


It's obvious what you think about us

by NayruElric



Category: Hajime no Ippo | Fighting Spirit
Genre: Awkward Romance, Gay Panic, Kissing, M/M, queercoded characters made canon, spicy gay awakening fic bc I'm Tired and Gay and just want them to fucking admit it already
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29720139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NayruElric/pseuds/NayruElric
Summary: One day, Miyata's feelings for Ippo spill over like a cup that's too full.Miyata x Ippo.
Relationships: Makunouchi Ippo/Miyata Ichirou
Kudos: 9





	It's obvious what you think about us

**Author's Note:**

> I tend to avoid using Japanese honorifics in my writing because there are usually English equivalents that can serve as interesting substitutes. Personally, I find using honorifics as something that doesn’t really add to a story and sometimes subtracts from it, but that isn’t really the case with the way Ippo uses “-kun” for Miyata. The honorific “-kun” is already difficult to translate in general, so I left the honorifics in this time. Don’t expect me to do it often. I hope you enjoy!

He’d counted the bruises, cuts, and scars on his body so many times that he’d lost count. White lights glared at him from overhead as cheers breached through his consciousness. He’d been beaten down again and again, forced himself to stand up, only to be sent back onto the ground. The crowd was wild, frothing in their ecstasy.

When raising his fists in victory, they were always stained with someone else’s blood. His opponents, other boys and fully grown men, were always one step ahead of him. So often, they looked him in the eyes and saw something that made them believe he was lesser. He was defeatable and deserved to be put in his place simply for who he was.

His fighting spirit, all the time in school he spent alone, that polite, absentminded personality that seemed to beg others to test their strength against him.

How many times had Makunouchi Ippo been forced to prove himself? Just to be allowed to exist?

He’d lost count.

**. . .**

Miyata Ichirou’s entire body was hot from hours of training. He stood panting before a sandbag at the Kawahara Boxing Gym. In the late summer afternoon, his fists were raised and aching, clammy from the heat and the wrappings around his knuckles and wrists. Tall fans pounded hot air at him from every direction, sweeping across the floors of the gym in every corner, but not even that could dry the buckets of sweat pouring down his neck, back, and shoulders. Finally, Ichirou wiped his brow with the towel around his shoulders. It was already sopping from doing so many times before.

The heat was making him hazy, and the intense sunlight filtering through Kawahara’s front windows in low angles didn’t help. Heat rose in swirls off the floors. It was a golden glow that Ichirou had seen many times before, blinding and brilliant. Somehow, it was exhausted of all its light.

When his father approached him with a water bottle, Ichirou took it gratefully.

“Tired, huh?” he asked.

“Not really.” Miyata took a drink. He was still slightly winded when he said, “I can keep going.”

His father cocked a skeptical eyebrow. “You’ve worked out enough this past week. Go home and rest. Your next match isn’t for a month yet.”

Miyata pulled the towel from around his neck and smiled. It’s not like he was getting anywhere with this heat anyway. “And what about you?”

The man jerked a thumb to the office behind him. “I have some business to discuss with the boss.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” Ichirou asked as he moved toward the showers.

Miyata senior gave him sympathetic smile, one Ichirou recognized all too well.

“You should take the day off. Stay home and sleep. Do something _other_ than boxing for once.”

Without turning around, Ichirou waved a lazy hand.

Underneath the showerhead, Ichirou stood motionless. Cold water hit the top of his head. Jet black hair hugged his cheeks and forehead as it ran down his face and neck, his sides tingling from the chilly, constant stream. The water sizzled against his skin, the tiles beneath his soles cool, bringing down his overall body temperature.

 _Take a day off, huh?_ he repeated in his mind. _As if I have anything else to fill my life with other than boxing._

Ichirou threw his head back and let the cold water hit him directly in the face. It felt so, so good. Clearing his mind of the heat haze from earlier, he felt his aching muscles relax and his thoughts submerge into a not oft-tread pool. It was _so_ relaxing, in fact, that his mind began to wander.

_I’m sure I’m not the only one who has difficulty finding hobbies outside of boxing. That idiot Ippo probably –_

Ichirou cut himself off before he could follow through. Ippo? Where did that come from? Abruptly, he twisted the faucet off.

Exiting the gym with a duffle bag over his shoulder, the intensity of the sun beat down on him not ten steps out the front door. His back prickled with sweat that beaded onto his skin, dampening his clean T-shirt. Looking up at the sky, Ichirou found himself dwelling on his father’s words. Instead of his normal intention to go home and surrender himself to another restless sleep, another vapid night of restless television, only to wake up and start the cycle all over again, it was as if a switch had been flipped in his mind.

Maybe it was the heat – it had to be the heat. Or maybe it was something about the fading light, and his newfound clarity from the cold water in his shower. Maybe it was something he just couldn’t keep buried anymore? Ichirou couldn’t be sure, but why had he become possessed by these thoughts, _now_ of all times?

Before he knew it, he was waiting at the train station. He saw the metallic train tracks shining in the ditch before him as if for the first time. He felt the warmth of a summer day caressing his body. Heard the voices of friends and loved ones around him talking and laughing as they waited at the train station together. Kids and adults would long for days like these in a few months once the darkness of winter took over. They would miss the halcyon summer days next year, after summer, when it became winter too – and the year after that, and the year after that, and after that.

This day, this year, this time of his life… it wouldn’t last forever.

It was the perfect day to eat a popsicle, watch the sunset, and chat deeply with a loved one into the night.

If only… he had someone like that to share it with.

Ichirou smiled sardonically in his self-pity. _But I don’t have anything like that. I don’t have time for anything like that. My life has always been about boxing._

With his boxing career and a job, his twenties were just a repeat of his childhood: He was too enveloped in boxing to spend time with anyone other than his father. The few friends he’d made during boxing, and during school, they never lasted long – his interest in boxing always superseded any relationship he could’ve had. Not to mention, how emotionally distant he was in general…

As streets flicked by rapidly, dodging the sunset, Ichirou sweated profusely on the train. It was moderately packed; people crowded around him on all sides, but he had enough space to move around. Ichirou couldn’t seem to pull himself out of his thoughts no matter what. The more he observed his surroundings, the louder his heartbeat became. As shops transformed into residential apartments and houses, it thrummed like a background guitar riff that begged to be heard.

Ippo was the goal that kept him focused, the elusive rival that spurred him on to improve – but it wasn’t just about their rivalry. In truth, he’d known it all this time.

Whenever they crossed paths, Ippo was so happy to see him that it made Ichirou feel cornered. No counter would ever be able to escape it, that cheery laugh or sweet, attentive smile. With Ippo, Ichirou never felt like just another stand-in with a role to fulfill, the “cool” kid in the gym confined to slick remarks and suave appearances. When Ippo asked about your motivation for becoming a boxer, when he demanded you take his juice after you helped him buy boxing shoes (something so mundane?!), it was in that invasive but genuine, curious way that made you feel like he _truly_ cared. He wasn’t just there to make fun.

Their rivalry distorted Ichirou’s perception at first; it made him believe Ippo’s admiration was just a ploy to get on his good side, get him to lower his guard mentally and physically for when they finally sparred. Other opponents wouldn’t hesitate to do something like that. It wasn’t until Ichirou already left Kamogawa that he understood…

Did Ippo feel the same way…?

Ichirou remained on the train for another twenty minutes after his stop. He was trapped in his memory of that late summer afternoon, when he and Ippo sat on the riverside, talking. Just talking. About life. How long ago and ephemeral it seemed…

Was that really all their relationship amounted to?

Something desperate and hopeful overtook his senses then. When the voice overhead announced the train’s arrival to the station, Ichirou dashed, gracelessly, though his body was already sweaty and aching from that afternoon. It was a different emotion that made him hazy as he ran down the street, across a bridge, and along the riverside. In the only direction he knows his heart will never forget.

 _What am I doing?!_ interrupted the rational voice in the back of his mind, the one that was always in control.

Ichirou’s legs slowed to a walk. Then he stopped. Bending over with his hands on his knees, his breath was heavy as he fought to catch it and regain control of himself. The shadows by the river were longer than the scene in his memories, since it was now evening. The sun, blazed with a blinding gold, shaded into a subdued red. It kissed the horizon as Ichirou straightened his back and gazed across the river.

 _What am I doing here?_ There was no way Ippo felt the same way. Not after all this time. Even if he _had_ felt the same way at one point, Ichirou ruined that chance long ago by being so aloof.

_His covert grin, the nervous gesture of a hand on his neck. Bubbly laughter spilled from his lips, twirled around his head –_

Ichirou raised his gaze skyward as he tore at his hair, yelling in frustration. “What the hell!”

“Ah…”

Ichirou’s eyes shot open in horror.

Of course Ippo would find him here, right now, at the worst time, before he had any chance to sort out his feelings.

Of course he would.

**. . .**

At the sound of surprise that popped out of Ippo’s mouth, Miyata’s eyes widened.

“Miyata-kun…” Ippo stood five feet away on the riverside path. In the fading red light, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing – as it always was when they met. _Why is Miyata-kun here?! And what is he doing?!_

Before Ippo could say anything, Miyata was already heading back the direction he came. “I-I just happened to be passing through.”

Miyata was alone and… vulnerable, somehow? He wasn’t in his gym clothes – in fact, far from it. It looked like he was in casual wear?! since when?! – and it looked like he was agonizing over something, if him screaming “what the hell!” didn’t convey that enough. _Why is he stuttering?!_ Ippo had _never_ heard him stutter before, not in all the years they’d known each other. Was it even possible?

“Wait! Are you okay?!” Ippo called after him. He was carrying a few buckets for Makunouchi Fishing Boat that clattered against his legs as he scrambled after Miyata. He almost tripped over them as he did. Such a familiar scene. To his great surprise, Miyata stopped after he called his name the first time. Not wanting to scare Miyata away, Ippo halted ten paces away.

Eyes still wide, Miyata hesitated a moment before answering. “Of course I’m okay. What makes you think I wouldn’t be?”

His voice was strange, too quiet, and – _oh_ – there it was again. Ippo brought a hand to his neck as he felt the heat rise to his face. He couldn’t bring himself to look into those quiescent auburn eyes full of mysterious beauty. He was embarrassed – by himself and the nervous tension that existed within him whenever Miyata was nearby. He should have been used to it by now, but no – even when they were observing a match together, he found himself lingering on Miyata’s face whenever he could steal a glance. “It’s just that, whenever you’re in the area, it’s usually because you have something you want to tell me. So it’s just strange if you’re here for no reason.” Ippo felt Miyata’s pensiveness in the ensuing silence and quickly corrected himself. “Not saying that I think you only come here for me of course!”

Miyata sighed. He planted his face in one palm. He looked tired. The heat seemed to be getting to him. _I also probably touched a nerve,_ Ippo thought.

“S-sorry,” he apologized, feeling his heartbeat accelerate at the prospect of making Miyata uncomfortable, _again_. “I shouldn’t have made assumptions about why you’re here. I’m sure you’re busy training for your upcoming match, so I’ll see you late –”

When Miyata glanced at Ippo’s face then, he seemed distraught. Ippo felt his throat clench. It looked as if Miyata wanted to say something? So Ippo waited.

“You’re busy too, aren’t you? With your mom’s business?” The words came out in a tumble, but Ippo understood. He shook his head, the distance between them seeming shorter than ten paces despite the darkening sky.

“No, well yes, but she already left on a fishing trip for the night. I was just going to pick up something from the store.” Ippo held up the buckets in his hand – as if Miyata hadn’t already noticed them. They rattled noisily against each other when he did.

“I see.”

The everlasting silence was making Ippo uncomfortable, so before he could think it through, he spoke again. “D-do you… Do you think… you’d like to come over?”

Ippo felt the frog that leapt into his throat as he said it. It made his last words shaky, though he’d wanted to sound less pathetic when asking such a question. He was sure he already knew what his rival would say. Miyata was never one to mince words or waste his time, especially not with Ippo, or anyone else for that matter. Just getting him to talk for this long was already a feat in and of itself.

So Ippo didn’t get his hopes up, as Miyata stood there in the sweltering heat, ten paces away, many years between them. A beat passed, during which Ippo kept his eyes focused on the ground. He didn’t want to show his disappointment so blatantly on his face when Miyata refused.

Suddenly, his shoes appeared on the edge of Ippo’s vision. When Ippo lifted his face, Miyata was standing at his side.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt.”

Ippo could hardly contain the burst of energy that exploded inside him. He wanted to scream in triumph at his victory. He didn’t know what was different about Miyata today. Perhaps this rivalry – _maybe even friendship?_ – finally had something more to it?

Ever since he’d met Miyata in the boxing ring during their first sparring match at Kamogawa, he’d always been in awe, terrified and admiring. Even after he left, Ippo had made it a point to go to as many of Miyata’s matches as he could. The thrill of seeing his rival onstage had yet to be extinguished. The prospect of being able to fight him again was prolific in Ippo’s mind, because…

He knew Takamura and the others would hate him for admitting it… but the community he formed at Kamogawa Gym was worth all the mental and physical hardships of boxing and more. He loved boxing. He loved being onstage and hearing the crowd scream in ecstasy whenever he succeeded in scoring a knockdown, whenever he was knocked down only to get back up again and again, continually defying their expectations. He loved sharpening his body and mind into a deadly punching machine and taking on strong opponents, seeing how far he could go with his own strength. But…

He was _also_ there, largely… because he wanted to make friends.

He _wanted_ to be friends with Takamura, Aoki, and Kimura – with Sendo, Volg, and Yamada – with Date and Itagaki – and with Miyata.

From the very beginning, he wanted to be friends with Miyata. That estranged, wonderful boxer who was the same age as him, and just as invested in boxing – but with a lot more experience. Ippo had never been given the chance… until today.

It was a strange but wonderful summer evening, indeed.

**. . .**

When Ichirou saw how Ippo tried to contain his oncoming disappointment and then excitement at the prospect of him coming over, it only made his heart ache. The small talk on the way over was unbearable. Not because it was agonizing talking to his long-time rival, no: The actual shame of carrying a real conversation with someone he’d so thoroughly avoided over the last few years piled up until all Ichirou could hear was his own self-reprimanding thoughts.

He couldn’t stop himself from staring – at the way Ippo gracefully lifted a hand in the air when explaining something, or the light blush that colored Ippo’s cheeks at every one of Ichirou’s questions or remarks. He glanced surreptitiously at Ichirou’s face as if trying to catch every minute gesture attached to every word. Ichirou hadn’t failed to notice when Ippo did it before at a boxing match, but it was as though he wanted to ignore it then – convince himself it didn’t mean anything. Not anymore.

They talked about the usual stuff, the safe stuff: Boxing, training, and matches. When it got to relationships, the conversation roved into to how the two occupied their time aside from boxing. Ichirou was only half present through it all. Something he noted was how Ippo failed to mention Kumi. He’d seen them together at matches and held his suspicions, but he didn’t have the courage to bring her up – not yet.

By the time they got to Ippo’s house, his head was spinning with so many thoughts that he wondered if coming over was a good idea at all. All the things he wished he’d spent the last few years saying, all the time they’d lost – it was too much. His overwhelm disappeared when he saw the house, however: Unassuming, and a little bit clumsy, but humble. Functional.

Just like the young man before him.

“Please make yourself comfortable!” Ippo called over his shoulder as he disappeared around the corner into the hallway to store the buckets he was carrying. “Have you had dinner yet? Do you want anything to drink?”

“Oh, I’ll have tea, please. And no, I haven’t had dinner yet.” Ichirou said it in a smaller voice than he would have liked. As he removed his shoes at the front door, noting all the fishery gear in the large entrance space, he didn’t miss Ippo’s smile as he disappeared.

Ichirou mumbled, “Excuse me,” to announce his arrival to no one. He could hardly believe he’d been at the gym only an hour ago. How did he even get here?

The sun had set, but it was still steamy outside and in the house as Ichirou sat on the floor at the table in the living room. He sat with his legs open and fanned his neck with one hand. The house was rather homely – nothing like the hoity-toity residences Ichirou was accustomed to while growing up. He should have known that Japan’s national featherweight champion, Makunouchi Ippo, had had humble beginnings.

Ichirou stopped fanning himself. The other didn’t have to tell him that he’d been bullied at school before coming to the Kamogawa Gym. Ichirou knew it by the way he acted around other men, by the way he apologized for the slightest offense, at the drop of a hat. No, Ippo still made himself small whenever he sensed he was being an inconvenience. Though he’d gained confidence over the last few years and Ichirou now respected him as a worthy opponent – as did many boxers across Japan – Ichirou couldn’t say he wouldn’t have been one of the jocks that snickered at him when he passed.

Ippo’s voice came from the kitchen. “We have some fresh tuna from our last fishing haul if you want that, or we can order out if you want.”

“Either one is fine,” Ichirou called back. The gleam of silver on a bookshelf behind him caught his eye. He stood to inspect it. Shoved beside rows of books, the boxer champion’s belt was treated like just another decoration in the house: Adorned by its surroundings rather than warranting specific attention.

 _I guess that’s just the Makunouchi way._ Miyata smiled to himself at the thought, gazing upon the prized item with pride, which soon faded into sorrow.

“Are you sure you don’t have a preference?” Ippo asked as he peeped his head into the living room. His sharp intake of breath was audible when he saw his rival looking at the very thing that divided them.

A cold air blew through the open window on the other side of the living room as Ippo doddered across the tatami to where Ichirou was standing. Ichirou could only see his hands, curled into fists. His white socks, then his jeans, and the bottom of his loose T-shirt. He placed the belt back where he found it.

It was still so weird, being this close to him.

After all the time and space that had separated them…

Now, he was…

_Right here._

_C’mon, idiot, this is your chance!_ the voice burst. _You wanted to get closer to him and now here he is! What you thought of him before doesn’t matter. What matters is you show him know how you feel_ now!

Ichirou had no idea where this new voice was coming from, exactly, but it was starting to make it difficult to focus while the object of his torment was a meager few feet away.

**. . .**

Miyata placed the belt back on the shelf before Ippo could say anything, and Ippo felt bad. He felt that he shouldn’t feel accomplishment for his strength or championship when all it had was drive a wedge between them. He was about to feel worse when Miyata’s next question hit him from nowhere.

“That cute girl you hang out with… do you see each other often?”

Ippo’s mind reeled at the sudden mood shift. Miyata was staring at him in this infallible way, hands in pockets, down the end of his nose but clearly waiting for any answer. It was as if he needed to ascertain something with this question. Ippo couldn’t decipher him no matter what, so he brought a hand to his neck, as he always did, and tried to hide his expression by averting his gaze onto the ground.

“Y-you mean Kumi-san? So you think she’s cute too, huh?”

Miyata’s tone was dry and light. “Obviously – who wouldn’t notice her looks when compared to her brother, Mashiba Ryou?”

Ippo chuckled. “You’re right there…”

“So you do spend time together?”

Miyata’s pushiness caught Ippo off-guard. Since when was he so concerned about Ippo’s personal life? _I guess we talked about many things on the way over, but not this,_ Ippo reasoned. “We see each other as often as we can, but I’m usually too busy with boxing and Makunouchi Fishing Boat to have time. She also doesn’t like watching me or her brother get hurt in boxing, so… we live pretty separate lives. Yeah…”

Ippo raised his head to catch a glimpse of Miyata’s expression, only to see Miyata staring at the floor, deep in contemplation. “M-Miyata-kun…?”

When he made eye-contact with Ippo again, he seemed to have accepted Ippo’s answer. “That makes sense.”

Ippo nodded, deflated. “Sure…” _What was that tension just now?_ Ippo asked, flabbergasted at Miyata’s apparent mood swings. He felt it in the way Miyata put down the belt and asked his questions. They were not at all like the questions he asked about Takamura, Aoki, Kimura, and Coach Genji. This one carried weight behind it, enough to sucker punch the living daylights out of someone if they didn’t answer carefully.

_But why would he…?_

**. . .**

“So, about dinner.”

Ippo stood attentively, hanging on Ichirou’s every word. It made him want to vomit.

“Yes, do you want tuna or to order out?!”

Ichirou chuckled at his fearful manners. “Gee, no need to get so nervous.”

“Oh, well, I mean…” Ippo’s shoulders crumpled, his hands fidgeting in from of his chest as his eyes shifted around the room, to every nook and cranny except Ichirou himself. “I was just wondering why you asked, is all.”

“Why I asked…? Well…” What could he say without giving himself away? Without sounding bitter and jealous? “It sounds like… you like her, but you’re avoiding each other… Am I wrong?”

When Ippo finally rested on Ichirou’s face, not saying anything, Ichirou continued. “It sounds like you two don’t know what to do with your feelings, and that’s why you haven’t acted on them. Am I right?” He didn’t know for certain whether Ippo – or Kumi – had acted on their feelings yet, but judging from the way Ippo could hardly look him in the face most of the time, how small he was around most other people… Ichirou made his best guess.

Maybe it was different with a girl, though. Maybe he felt bolder, more in control when he wasn’t around other boys. Ichirou could certainly relate.

The time it took for Ippo to answer was excruciating. Sparks flew up between them the moment Ippo saw Ichirou holding his champion belt, reminding them of the promise they had yet to achieve. Ichirou feared his conjectures fanned those sparks into a dark, smoky cloud that only infuriated Ippo, his – friend. However, when Ippo finally gave his response, the embers instead became a steady flame.

“Maybe you’re right.”

Ever since Ichirou saw them together, he had suspected they only spent time together out of convenience – but hearing Ippo admit it aloud… it left him in shock.

Ippo said, “I mean, I like spending time with Kumi-san, and I think she’s cute, but sometimes…” Not knowing where that string of thought was going, Ippo reversed on his last words. “I like spending time with Kumi-san. We have fun together. But – yeah…” Only to come to the same conclusion. Whatever that may be, Ichirou didn’t know. He said the last bit more to himself, smiling strangely as he looked at the floor.

Ichirou felt a twinge of sadness overcome him.

 _Isn’t this the confirmation you needed?_ rang the voice in his head. The rational part of him screamed, _No! You don’t know anything about what he’s thinking. Don’t do something stupid based on false pretenses. You just put words into his mouth!_

Much to Ichirou’s chagrin, the first voice was louder: The one that wanted to reassure the boy in front of him that all the lonely hours he spent counting his scars in school were not in vain, that eventually _someone_ would understand him, care about him, and appreciate him for who he is. And that person wouldn’t be Kumi.

Ippo didn’t have to commit himself to the bloodbath of the boxing world just to prove that he deserved recognition and love. Even if the ring was where they first met, Ichirou wouldn’t let him struggle to find his place all on his own.

He closed the distance between them.

**. . .**

Ippo’s face snapped up to meet Miyata, who was suddenly only a few inches away. Seeing those auburn eyes focused so intently on him, he couldn’t move.

Miyata stepped forward – one step, two steps, three, four – and as he did, Ippo stepped backward. He didn’t want to accidentally get in Miyata’s personal space – _I mean, this was his_ rival _we’re talking about_ – but soon, Ippo’s back was pressed against the dresser on the opposite living room wall. When he lost his balance, his hands clamored to find the small surface of the dresser. When he did, he gripped tightly.

What was Miyata doing?

Careful not to move a muscle, because Miyata was so close that any movement would lead to their collision, Ippo’s back was bent to avoid him. Yet he couldn’t stop looking into his eyes. They burned with something, something Ippo caught a hint of during their sparring matches, but now – now…

It wasn’t Miyata’s fighting spirit that Ippo saw in those eyes. It was something far more foreign and staggering.

With Miyata’s hands on either side of him on the dresser, Ippo gulped. He couldn’t escape. It wasn’t until one of Miyata’s hands found his that he realized his head was so hot it felt like it would pop like a balloon.

**. . .**

Here was the strongest man in Japan, who had defeated rivals all across the nation, and yet Ichirou could see the uncertainty in his eyes at being in this position. The pink that colored Ippo’s cheeks had become a shade of deep crimson. Ippo remained transfixed on Ichirou’s face, those large grey eyes wide with anticipation and shock. Ichirou couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction at seeing him this way, though he worried whether that was the correct response.

There was no tapping out now. The warmth of the summer night and become too much for either of them to bear.

**. . .**

“M-Miyata-kun…? Wh-what are you…?”

One of Miyata’s hands clasped Ippo’s neck – and he shuddered. These sensations, these feelings, they were present when he and Kumi spent time together, but never this intensely. Never with this much passion. His body didn’t fight when Miyata slowly pulled him into a gentle kiss.

Trapped against his own dresser, Ippo felt Miyata’s chest rising and falling against him. Heat emanated from Miyata’s face and neck, dulling Ippo’s senses with his scent – husky and sharp, like dried mint leaves crushed and dropping. He’d been fighting for so long that he’d forgotten his body was made for more than withstanding attack. His flesh and blood screamed, having been awakened to something dormant inside him. Something that had always been there, constantly searching for recognition and release.

When Miyata pulled away, looking sheepishly into Ippo’s eyes, and already regretting everything that had just transpired, Ippo didn’t understand. His thick eyebrows knit in his delirium.

Miyata was going to pull away – retreat back into the Miyata that Ippo knew best, the distant rival who never showed his true feelings and concentrated on boxing until it was the only thing that was left, in the form of a deadly counter that could fend off any approach, malicious or kind.

Ippo wouldn’t let him. He couldn’t. He was known for his strength in adversity, for his ability to be beaten down again and again, and finally, at the opportune moment, to discover how to defeat his opponent.

This time, his opponent wasn’t Miyata.

It was himself.

All the time he’d spent chasing Kumi, all the false hopes he convinced himself meant nothing – finally, something had clicked into place. Something that had always been missing, yet he never understood _why_.

He was hungry as he clutched Miyata’s arms, refusing to let go. No, not now, when he was so close to the answer. So close to the truth. He looked at Miyata with tear-laden eyes and said nothing.

**. . .**

That pained look told Ichirou everything he needed to know.

Pressing his lips into Ippo again, more fervently this time, Ippo finally kissed him back. His hands stopped gripping the dresser and instead found Ichirou’s waist, hugging him close. Their proximity only made the pounding louder in Ichirou’s ears. Entangled, Ippo leaned off the dresser to bring them to the center of the living room, hands fluttering beneath T-shirts and across wet skin. When Ichirou gasped at the fingers clutching his lower back and Ippo’s lips and tongue trailing saliva across his mouth, he opened his eyes to find himself dizzy, the light too bright and dim at once.

Ichirou’s arms were around Ippo’s shoulders when his back hit the doorframe, and both of them stopped for breath and blushed. They knew where this could go next.

**. . .**

Now that Miyata was in his arms, Ippo refused to let go of him. Though he looked down shyly, realizing he’d never been so bold with his feelings before. He worried he might have gone too far.

“A-ah… What should we do…?”

**. . .**

Ichirou was so winded, tingling all over, that he was having difficulty focusing.

Ippo’s shy look only made his heart scream anew in his chest.

Vaguely, he recalled just thirty minutes ago, when they’d been talking on the way over to his house. Who knew that so quickly…?

If they’d met up before now, would their feelings have spilled out in such a way?

Ichirou wrapped his arms around the shorter boy and held him close. Ippo buried his face into his neck, which only reignited the friction between them. Their breaths eventually began to rise and fall in sync. Ichirou knew from how Ippo’s eyes blinked open against him.

Ichirou rubbed his hands down Ippo’s sides, earning another shudder of pleasure that made Ichirou smirk. Feeling his muscles, Miyata felt Ippo’s breath become more elongated when his fingertips brushed the hem of his pants. Wait, was he…?

Going lower, Ichirou felt Ippo try to take a furtive step backward.

_Wow, he’s big._

“M-Miyata-kun,” Ippo whimpered, and Ichirou was grateful he spoke up first. “I-I think… I understand why it was so difficult… to tell Kumi-san how I felt…”

Ichirou grinned. Of course he would say something so utterly inappropriate at such an appropriate time.

Ippo lifted his head. His grey eyes focused on him only made Ichirou heat up even more.

“Well, at least now it’s obvious what you think about us.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am _losing_ my mind at how queercoded Ippo is (and how Miyata, and Yamada, and Sendo and Volg are) in _Hajime no Ippo_ , so I pumped this out in a delirium of 90s queer nostalgia. It really feels like the boxing ring is a metaphor for performing masculinity in this series with how a lot of boxers are super macho and toxic while Ippo isn’t a lesser boxer for being polite and *coughs* effeminate outside of the ring. Seems like a representation of queerness for me, BUT Y’KNOW, we gay fans are just rabid idiots when it comes to projecting our identities onto characters, right? *rolls eyes emoji*
> 
> Seriously though, Kumi’s relationship straight up feels like a joke within this series. Obviously, a lot of media has forced and one-dimensional hetero relationships for the sake of it, but _HnI_ just… straight up doesn’t take Ippo x Kumi seriously from what I’ve seen??? They’re always interrupted when they’re about to have a moment. Their moments are few and far in between. It’s supposed to be _funny_ when they can’t be a thing, so like??? It really doesn’t seem like the author wants us, the audience, to root for the couple either. I don’t know, maybe I’m just tired and gay and begging for representation where there likely is none. That’s why I shall create it.
> 
> I haven’t read the manga of this series and I don’t plan to. :D 1300 chapters is not something I want to fuck with, though I did look ahead at some random chapters in the 1200–1300 range and wow. It sure stays that gay. Damn.
> 
> Enough of my rant. This fanfic was largely inspired by boy pablo’s 2018 album, _Soy Pablo_ , which is where I got the title from, too! (It’s my favorite line in “tkm.”) I normally write introspective gay tragedies, so this was definitely a nice break from my norm and a challenge. I hope I got the queer 90s summer vibe I desired. Please let me know in your thoughts below!


End file.
